


bad brains

by gypsywillows



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Calum is 19, Depression, Drug Addiction, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Promiscuity, Sex Addiction, Statutory Rape, Suicide Attempt, ashton is 22, luke is 18, michael is 20
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-01 15:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsywillows/pseuds/gypsywillows
Summary: ashton is suicidal, calum is skinny, michael is an addict, and luke is overly promiscuous.oh, and they meet in a mental hospital.





	1. the long way down

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very, very heavy fic so please pay attention to the tags and any possible triggers. read with caution. i also apologize if there are any inaccurate depictions of anything.
> 
> also i got pretty far into the first chapter when my dumbass accidentally closed the tab without saving so if it seems rushed im very sorry but im so mad at myself lol
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> title from "she's kinda hot" by 5sos

Ashton didn’t even remember blacking out.

He kind of remembered being in the back of an ambulance, his vision swirling and he could hear vague voices, trying to keep him conscious. They asked him questions, like, how old he was and where he was from, and he could kind of respond, not that he remembered how he did. He also heard the beeping of the heart monitor and he felt so nauseous that maybe he did throw up, but even so, he couldn’t remember a thing super clearly. The last thing he remembered before actually waking up to a dark hospital room was asking where his mother was.

He couldn’t remember their response.

When he did wake up, the room itself was dark, and the lights in the hallway were dim. There was a nurse sitting by him on his phone. Ashton stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tired, and he had to pee.

He was hooked up to an EKG and they had an IV in him. His entire body was sore, and his neck was stiff to the point where he could only move his head sideways. He looked over at the nurse and coughed. The nurse looked up from his phone, a bald man who looked to be in his forties. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“Where am I?” Ashton asked.

“Riverview Hospital. You know what happened, right?” the nurse replied.

Yeah, he remembered, and he didn’t like that he was alive to do so. “I overdosed,” he said, and the nurse nodded. “How long was I out?”

“Well,” the nurse said, “you overdosed at around ten last night. It’s currently four in the morning the next day. You didn’t take nearly enough pills to kill you, but your body’s sure gonna hate you for the next couple days.”

 _Fuck,_ Ashton thought. This wasn’t the plan. The plan was to get out of that stupid house, to escape this stupid life, and somehow, Ashton was saved. He didn’t remember who or when or how. He couldn’t remember a thing besides taking those pills and trying to go to sleep. “What happened after I took the pills?”

The nurse shrugged. “Don’t know the whole story. Apparently someone heard you talking really loudly and called an ambulance. You were delirious; at least, that’s what I heard.”

Ashton was confused. He thought his antidepressants would kill him. They were 300 milligrams each, and he took ten pills. He took a Benadryl and an Advil for the fuck of it. He thought he would surely die from that.

“I thought I went to sleep. I’m pretty sure I did,” Ashton said hoarsely.

“Like I said, I don’t know the whole story. They don’t give me all the details. They just assign me to watch you.”

Ashton turned his head back up to the ceiling. He wanted to cry, but his body was exhausted, and he didn’t know if he wanted to cry because he lived or because he didn’t die.

-

Ashton had gone back to sleep at some point, and when he woke up, it was another nurse turning on the light in his room. “Rise and shine,” she said with a smile. Ashton wanted to sock her in the face. The light made his eyes hurt and his head pound.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Ashton grumbled. “A little abrupt don’t you think? I overdosed, my head’s a mess, and you decide to switch on the fucking light.”

The young nurse sighed and began changing the EKG pads. “No need to be so hostile,” she said.

Ashton closed his eyes to avoid the harsh light. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Ten in the morning,” the nurse replied coldly. “The social worker will see you soon.”

“Am I going to the nuthouse?” Ashton asked. He’d never been to one himself, but he had friends who did, and from what they told him, it wasn’t fun.

“Probably, but that’s not up to me,” the nurse said as she replaced the last pad. “Do you need anything?”

Ashton remembered himself waking up six hours prior. “I need to pee.”

-

When he tried to get up, he couldn’t stand on his own two feet.

His balance was completely off, and trying to walk let alone stand was like balancing on a tightrope made of Jell-O. Standing was completely different from lying down in his current state, and he hated it. He couldn’t walk to the bathroom, even with the help of two nurses.

So they got him one of those metal ones and brought it to him so he didn’t have to walk. He did have to stand, and the two nurses held his shoulders firmly. He wobbled as he relieved himself, and as soon as he was done, he fell back onto his bed, exhausted. His head was pounding and his stomach was turning. He felt nauseous, but not enough to throw up. He took deep breaths and swallowed every time he felt something rising in his throat. He was able to make it through the wave of nausea, but if this happened every time he had to piss, he might as well just try to kill himself by ripping his IV needle out and stabbing himself in the neck.

-

The social worker came in about a half hour after the nurses left him. She was a sweet middle-aged lady named Donna. She had short gray hair and bright red glasses. Ashton had had his fair share of counselors and therapists, but never one in the emergency room.

“Good morning, Ashton. Sleep well?” she asked, taking a seat in the chair beside his bed.

“As good as someone who just overdosed can sleep,” he retorted.

Donna smiled sadly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know, can _you_?” Ashton asked, half-serious. Donna stared him down, and Ashton sighed. “I overdosed on my pills, and I tried going to sleep. I can’t remember what happened after that.”

Donna looked down at her clipboard. “According to the paramedics, you were delirious when they arrived at your apartment. You took the pills, tried to sleep, and I guess when you didn’t sleep, you were confused as all hell. The pills messed with your brain functioning, and you were practically screaming, knocking things over, talking in gibberish. But according to Brian, you couldn’t remember any of that.”

Ashton remained silent, racking his brain and trying to remember what transpired that night. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember being delirious or yelling or anything like that.

“The pills you took,” Donna said, “were very dangerous. They made you extremely dizzy, threw off your balance, and the reason why you were yelling is because the pills made all the noises around you amplified. One of your neighbors called the paramedics because you were screaming for help.”

 _I was screaming for help?_ “No, that’s not right,” Ashton said softly. “That can’t be right. I wanted to die. Why would I cry for help?”

“Maybe you underestimated the effect the pills would have on you,” Donna said matter-of-factly. “Three thousand milligrams of lamotrigine, twenty-five of Benadryl, and two hundred ibuprofen. A painful concoction, but not deadly.”

Ashton sighed, frustrated with himself. “So what now?” he asked, exasperated.

“In situations like these, we almost always send suicide attempt patients to a psychiatric hospital. In your case, it’s definite. However, I’d still like to hear what you have to say.”

Ashton scowled. “There’s nothing to say. I tried to kill myself and I failed.”

“But why did you try to take your own life?” Donna asked. Ashton closed his eyes.

_Glass. Blood. Screams. The screams. They were like nails on a chalkboard. They were his nails and his chalkboard. Empty liquor bottles. Cigarette butts and second-degree burns._

_It’s my fault._

Ashton didn’t realize he had said it aloud.

“Whatever it is you’re talking about, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Donna said.

“Where’s my mother?” Ashton asked suddenly, without really thinking.

“She’s been notified, but we haven’t gotten a response yet. Once we do, we’ll let you know.”

“Please,” Ashton said through gritted teeth, “don’t.”

Donna sighed and scribbled something down on her clipboard. “Do you resent your mother, Ashton? For whatever reason?”

Ashton didn’t say anything, only nodded. There was a moment of silence between him and the emergency room social worker.

“Are those self-inflicted?” Donna asked, pointing at Ashton’s wrists. He’d almost forgotten about those, to be honest. He'd started when he was sixteen and stopped when he was nineteen. He actually didn't have a reason for stopping; it was just tiring having to hide his arms at job interviews, and it always posed as a mild inconvenience whenever he wanted to form relationships with other people. When he made efforts to hide his scars, people always ended up seeing them anyway and giving him questionable looks. So he just kind of avoided people altogether.

He nodded to Donna's question."Yeah, I started when I was sixteen but stopped when I was nineteen."

"Well, I'm glad you stopped," she said, continuing to scribble something down on her clipboard. "So, it looks as if we're going to send you to Burmingham Hospital, the adult behavioral health wing. They're very good with a variety of mental health issues, and their services are very well-received." She placed a comforting hand on Ashton's shoulder. "We'll get you help, Ashton. Is there anything else I can get you?"

Ashton shook his head. "Well, just let the nurses know if you need anything," Donna said, and with that, she was gone.

-

It was around 3 PM when the EMT's came to pick Ashton up. In between that time, Ashton had attempted to walk to the bathroom (which was a couple feet away from his room) with the help of two nurses. He was still extremely off-balance and dizzy, so he ended up having to sit down to pee. When he returned to his room and collapsed on the bed, the nausea caught up with him when he vomited all over himself. His body hated him for poisoning it, and he was paying the price. The doctor had given him something in the IV for the nausea after the vomiting attack, which seemed to help, and he was able to stomach some crackers and Jell-O. He was also drinking water again, and he patted his tummy, praising it for not fucking him over again.

"Our bodies do just as bad when there's nothing in them as when there's too much in them," the doctor had told him.

Which was true, since Ashton did feel slightly better after being able to eat and drink without puking his guts up.

The ambulance ride was a little bumpy, which made Ashton a little nervous. A nurse had given him a vomit bag for the road just in case, which Ashton hoped he didn't have to use. While he was uncomfortable around the corners and turns, he was less nauseous and more nervous.

The cool autumn breeze hit him like a truck once they opened the back doors of the ambulance. It made his skin tingle and his nose crinkle. He'd forgotten what it was like to breathe in fresh air after being held in an emergency room for several hours. The EMT's wheeled him into Burmingham, and the difference between this hospital and the last was striking.

Where Riverview looked and felt like a hospital, the inside of Burmingham felt and looked like a mansion. Clean carpeting and mahogany furniture, even the entrance looked like something out of a rich person's private getaway. It felt like a hotel rather than a hospital, which, although was comforting to Ashton, still made him nervous because it _wasn't_ a hotel he was staying at. It was a _mental hospital._

The EMT's wheeled him through the ground floor and into the elevator, where one of them pressed the eighth floor button. _Who the hell puts a mental health wing on the eighth floor?_ Ashton wondered to himself.

When the elevator arrived on the eighth floor, Ashton was greeted with the same comforting decor. Carpet, mahogany, warmth. It was so comforting that the big metal doors down the hall with the sign "Adult Psychiatric Unit" plastered above them was extremely out of place. The EMT's stopped there, and there was a buzzing sound, and the metal doors opened to reveal one of the unit's workers. Gesturing the EMT's inside, the worker followed closely behind. "Ashton Irwin, twenty-two, Caucasian male, suicide attempt..." one of the EMT's was saying.

Ashton drowned out the conversation about the information he was already aware of the take in his surroundings. The adult psychiatric wing wasn't the comforting brown of the hall, but it still felt homely. The floor was carpet, but it was a deep burgundy red. Along with it, the walls were painted a dark yellow, and paired with the soft lighting, Ashton didn't feel like it was a hospital (even though he knew it was). The ceiling was really high as well; Ashton estimated maybe eighteen feet.

But that was only one section of the wing. They turned a corner and all of a sudden there was sunlight. Natural sunlight shone through the large windows, which were the walls themselves. A couple patients and employees gazed out at the city. The ceiling was just as high, if not higher. Colorful light shades hung from the ceiling, and the flooring had changed from carpet to tile that reminded Ashton of a classroom. The walls were not one color; they were murals and paintings of flowers, landscapes, and other forms of realism. A fuzzy white carpet lay in the middle of the large section of the wing, huge chairs of all colors scattered around. At the center of the carpet was a wooden coffee table that seemed out of place in comparison to the rest of the furniture.

Ashton was too busy observing everything to realize he'd come to a stop in front of a small room with the label "Intake Room" on it. The worker unlocked the door, and the EMT's unstrapped Ashton from the stretcher. He swung his legs around the side, attempting to stand up. Wobbling on his feet, the EMT's caught him. "Overdose. He's still coming off of it," one of them explained to the worker. The worker nodded in understanding.

"In you go," he said. "A nurse will be with you in a minute."

The EMT's guided him to one of the three chairs in the intake room. Ashton sat down gently, lacing his fingers together and twiddling his thumbs as he waited patiently.

There was a window that looked out to the wing, where he could see workers and patients walking around. A couple patients passed by, giving him curious looks, but otherwise paying no attention to him. Suddenly there was the sound of the door closing.

"Ashton Irwin?" a lady with jet black hair and a chirpy voice asked. Ashton nodded. "I'm Jen. I'm a nurse here. What brings you in today?" she asked, booting up the large computer monitor in the room. She asked the question as if she'd asked it thousands of times before (which Ashton assumed she has).

"I, uh, tried to kill myself," Ashton said, his eyes not leaving his hands.

There was the clacking of the keyboard. "How?" Jen asked.

"Overdose."

It was like a game of twenty questions. Jen asked Ashton all the intake questions, the formalities, such as if there were any medications he was on (yes), if he had any other health conditions (no), if he was sexually active (debatable). They weighed him and didn't really go past any health questions, until Jen asked him why he tried to do it. "It's okay if you don't know or don't want to talk about it," she told him.

It was more of the former. Ashton remained silent, though, because he really didn't know. Or, maybe he did know, but it was just too much to think about that he ended up not knowing. Something complicated and confusing like that.

"That's alright," Jen said, typing something into the computer. "We'll get you changed and you can wear your own clothes here, just no strings and nothing too revealing. If you have friends or family who can bring you stuff, they're welcome to bring it at any time."

Ashton winced slightly at the word 'family.' He'd probably have to have his friend Alex bring him his stuff. "Will I be able to call them?" he asked.

"Yup, once you're all settled in we have phones you can use to call whoever you need to call," Jen replied. "In the meantime, we just need to get you out of Riverview's clothes and put you into ours. Just a thing we do here," she explained, opening a cabinet and pulling out more hospital clothes. She held them out to Ashton, and he took them hesitantly. "I'll show you to your room, yeah?"

Ashton remembered that he could barely walk, and the EMT's were long gone. "Um, I can't really walk right. Do you have a wheelchair I could use or something?"

"Oh, right, they did talk about you still coming down from the overdose," Jen said, thinking. "Yes, I'll be right back." She left the room and returned a few seconds later with a wheelchair. Helping him up from the seat, she guided him into the wheelchair and began wheeling him down the hall. He got some strange looks from the patients, but it was to be expected. No one else was in a wheelchair except for him, and he was twenty-two, not elderly, and he could see that the actual elderly patients looked very confused once they saw him.

It turned out that the unit was one big circle. The entrance that Ashton had come in from was carpeted, as was the rest of the wing except for that one large portion with the big windows. The patients' rooms were scattered around the unit, most of which were in the carpeted parts. The rooms themselves were carpeted a different color, a deep navy blue, or a bright orange yellow, which Ashton thought was bizarre. His was the navy blue variant. "Your roommate's name is Michael. Doesn't look like he's here now. He's probably in group," Jen said. "I'm sure he'll be happy to have a roommate around his age."

So there were people his age here.

Shaped like a U, the room was divided into Ashton's section and Michael's section. Obviously Ashton's side was empty, but Ashton could tell someone else was living with him due to the numerous drawings and posters hung up on the wall and clothes littering the floor. "Michael's a bit messy, but he keeps to his side," Jen told him.

She pushed Ashton's wheelchair to his side of the room right beside his bed. "I'll let you get changed, but I'll be waiting right outside the room when you'e done." She exited the room, and Ashton managed to get onto the bed and change his shirt and pants whilst sitting down. Plopping back on the wheelchair, he called out for Jen, who came back in and smiled. "Done?" she asked, and Ashton nodded. "Fantastic." She began wheeling Ashton out of his room.

Jen showed Ashton where the bathrooms and showers were (patients didn't have showers in their rooms and they had to be unlocked by a worker), where laundry was, et cetera. Though most of the rooms were patient rooms, there were a couple of group gathering rooms, an activity room, and the community lounge. Ashton asked Jen about the big window portion of the wing.

"We don't really have a name for that," she said. "It's kind of like the community lounge where a lot of the patients just sit and relax and sometimes play games, but with a view. And since it's not a room, the patients enjoy it more since it's not an enclosed space. Although, this whole unit is basically one huge enclosed space," she said lightheartedly. Ashton chuckled dryly, not because he didn't like Jen (he thought she was lovely actually), but because he was thirsty.

"Where can I get something to drink?" he asked.

Jen wheeled him into the community lounge, where a couple patients were playing cards at the center table. "There's the water and ice dispenser, and there's some milk and juice in the fridge," she said, motioning the the large silver fridge in the corner of the room. A water machine sat upon the counter, one dispenser labeled 'water' and the other 'ice.' Cups were stacked in between the water dispenser and the fridge. "There's also a coffee/tea machine, if you need caffeine." She pointed to the Keurig at the end of the counter.

She pushed Ashton back outside where she showed him how to maneuver the wheelchair on his own. It took him a little while, but he eventually got the hang of it, and he was comforted knowing he didn't need someone to push him around all the time.

"Dinner is at five thirty, so you have about another hour. You can pretty much do whatever you want or need until then, but if you need something from me, just give me a holler, okay?" Jen asked, holding out her fist for a fist bump. Ashton chuckled and did the fist bump-to-explosion with her. "The other patients love it when we have a new admission. Maybe try talking to a couple."

Jen headed back to her work station, which was at the entrance of the wing. Ashton scanned the unit again, seeing if there were any patients his age.

Slowly wheeling himself down the hall, he came back to the community area (not the lounge, he decided, he would call the big window portion the community _area_ ). The sun was already low in the sky, not low enough for the oranges and pinks to come out, but he knew that winter was fast approaching.

"Hey new kid!" Ashton heard a voice that was obviously calling out to him. "Heard you're my new roommate."

So that must be Michael, Ashton figured. He turned his wheelchair around and saw a lanky man walking down the hall in his direction. He was dressed in an oversized black sweater and black skinny jeans. His bleach-blond hair and matching pasty skin looked like he'd never seen the sun. He wasn't wearing shoes, though, just black socks.

"Yeah," Ashton said. "You're Michael, then?"

"The one and only," Michael replied with a smirk, holding his arms out and doing a twirl. He took a seat on one of the blue leather sofas, the one next to Ashton's wheelchair. "So what's up with that? You paralyzed or somethin'?"

Ashton shook his head. "No, uh..." He didn't know how to explain to a stranger that he tried to kill himself and his body was giving him hell for it, but Michael held up his hand.

"Say no more," he said. "Unless you want to. But you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Ashton gave him a smile. He liked that Michael was easygoing yet respectful of his boundaries. "I know you probably got a tour of the place from a nurse, but you haven't gotten the _grand_ tour."

Ashton raised an eyebrow. "What makes it so grand?"

"The nurses can't talk about other patients in a manor that patients talk about other patients in, if that makes sense," Michael said. "In other words, I'm going to give you the dirt on the craziest ones here." He said that sentence in a lower voice, since there were a couple patients sitting opposite from them, coloring some pages.

Michael stood up. "Mind if I push you?"

"Go ahead," Ashton replied. Michael wheeled him around and the two started the so-called "grand tour."

"So," Michael began. He tugged his head in the direction of the community lounge, where the four patients from before were still playing cards. "The one with the green hair? That's Allison. She's like, twenty-six or something. She had a bad case of heroin withdrawals that they sentenced her to here. Apparently she had a miscarriage a couple years ago that sent her spiraling. She's crazy about her boyfriend, but still tries to lure in any new patients, whether they're male or female or _whatever,_ so if she tries to talk to you, just keep it to a few words."

"Noted," Ashton said. Allison's dark green hair was cut short, bags under her eyes darker than any black eye Ashton had ever seen. She looked like she'd just crawled out of a sewer, but there she was, laughing with the other patients.

Michael pointed at the one next to Allison. "That's Jamie. He's got a lot of anger management issues. Worse than mine, which is surprising to me and everyone else, really. I heard he tried to kill someone and that's what got him here."

Jamie had long dark brown hair and a scruffy beard. Although he couldn't be a couple years older than Ashton, his demeanor sent a chill down his spine. He wasn't visibly muscular, so the fact that he tried to kill someone with his stature scared Ashton.

"And the other two are just there," Michael said. "Moving on."

They reached the nurses' station but didn't stop there. Michael simply slowed down a bit and leaned in to Ashton's ear. "See the blond guy with the curly hair?" he whispered, and Ashton nodded. "That's Luke."

Luke seemed to be chatting with the nurses behind the counter, smiling and making hand gestures and whatnot. "You'll get to talk to him later, since he's kind of my only friend here. He sits with us at meals."

"Us?" Ashton asked.

"Yeah, another kid sits with us. His name's Calum. We're pretty much the only ones in our age group here, so we stick together. Calum doesn't talk much, but he's nice," Michael said. "Anyway, Luke's mad horny."

Ashton was taken aback by this statement as Michael continued with him down the hall. "What do you mean?" he asked Michael in a hushed voice so Luke wouldn't hear.

"He's here because-get this-he's addicted to sex."

"You're kidding," Ashton said.

Michael laughed audibly, but Luke didn't seem to notice. "Absolutely not. One hundred percent truth. He's a sex addict, always trying to seduce people, looking for a quick fuck in a _mental hospital._ How pathetic."

Ashton was confused, but not before Michael could continue explaining. "Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, he's great, but when he tries to sleep with the patients and workers here alike, it's kind of sad when you think about it. Like, he's here to get help, but he's acting on the very thing that got him here in the first place."

It was sad, but Ashton wasn't in the place to say anything regarding another patient since he'd just gotten there.

"His story is better when he tells it, and I'm sure he'll gladly tell you about it. The kid's an open book," Michael said.

Ashton remembered that Michael had mentioned another patient. "What about the other one you talked about? The one who you said sits with you and Luke at meals?"

"Oh, Calum," Michael said. "Yeah, he sits with us. Doesn't talk much or leaves his room much unless there's a group he has to go to. Like, he'll sit with us at meals so he doesn't feel alone. He doesn't really eat, though."

Ashton scoffed. "I understand why people don't wanna eat hospital food. It's pretty damn terrible."

Michael didn't laugh, which raised a bit of concern in Ashton. "This hospital's food is actually pretty damn good," he said, and Ashton noticed a change in Michael's tone.

"Then why does he sit with you guys at meals?" Ashton asked. He didn't mean anything by the question. He was just curious, honestly, but he knew that the question could be taken the wrong way, so he continued, "Like, I know you said he doesn't wanna feel lonely, but-"

"Ash," Michael interrupted. "Calum sits with us at meals, but that's about it. That's all he does. He sits with us, and he doesn't eat because he _doesn't eat_."

The hospital air was heavy, and Ashton didn't realize that he started holding his breath, but he released it when he started to feel lightheaded. They had come back full circle, back to the community area where the sun was a bit lower in the sky than before.

Michael released the handles of Ashton's wheelchair. "But you'll see it for yourself later," he said, despite the conversation regarding Luke and Calum having ended several minutes prior.


	2. so sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ashton meets luke and calum at dinner, and luke tells the story of how he became the sex addict he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot stress this enough: please please please pay attention to the tags. all chapters have a possibility of trigger warnings. continue with caution.  
> a new warning: statutory rape

The cafeteria was actually off the unit, so all the patients had to line up at the entrance to head to the dining area. They let Ashton be in the front since he was in a wheelchair, with Michael right behind him. A mental health worker opened the big metal doors and led the patients a little ways down the hall into the cafeteria. Like the rest of the hospital, it didn't look like it belonged in a hospital. With soft white lights and autumn decor, it was comforting. Michael leaned down to Ashton's ear and said quietly, "I think today's individual pan pizzas. I'm all over that shit." Ashton snickered.

The two took their seats at a table for four (well, Michael did, since Ashton already had a moving one), and Michael immediately began chowing down on his pizza. "This is some good shit," he said with a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

"It's not polite to talk with your mouth full, you know," an unfamiliar voice said. The curly-headed blond from before (Luke, was it?) had set his tray down next to Michael's. "And why didn't you introduce me to your new friend? I saw you rolling him around, Mikey," the blond whined.

"Aw, Lukey, he's perfectly capable of introducing himself, and besides, you were too busy trying to get into Julia's pants," Michael whined back, taking another bite of his pizza. Luke stuck his tongue out at the bleach blond and followed it with a toothy grin.

"So then, what's your name, sugar?" Luke asked. Ashton had to remember that Michael said Luke was a sex addict, which explained Luke's flirtatious tone.

"Ashton," he said. Luke was eyeing him up and down, and in any other circumstance, Ashton would feel uncomfortable, but there was something about Luke that was entrancing. Ashton didn't think he was _gay,_ but he could appreciate an attractive male when he saw one, and _damn,_ Luke surely was attractive. Along with his full head of curly blond hair, he wore a plain white t-shirt that hugged his lean torso and a pair of gray sweatpants that, while they didn't hug his body, they did show the outline of his-

"See something you like?" Luke teased, and Michael almost choked on his pizza. The two of them were giggling like schoolgirls, and Ashton could feel himself blushing.

"Leave him alone," said another voice, a bit quieter than Luke's. Another boy had approached the table, setting his tray down next to Luke, and therefore, next to Ashton. The table was a square, and the four boys sat in a circle, Ashton facing Luke, and Michael facing the newly introduced boy who Ashton assumed to be Calum. "Can't you go a day without flirting with someone?" the tan boy asked.

"It's not my fault I was born with these tantalizing good looks," Luke bragged, batting his eyelashes and flipping his hair. "You're just no fun, Cal."

Calum couldn't help but smile. "I'm Calum," he said, extending a small hand towards Ashton. Ashton took his hand, shaking it gently with a grip so light that he could barely feel the boy's boney fingers. He noticed that Calum only had a small plate of fruit and some yogurt on his tray, as opposed to the rest of them, who had their own pan pizzas.

"Ashton," he said, and the two retracted their hands. Calum had on an oversized sweater like Michael, but the sweater basically swallowed the boy whole. His fingers barely poked out of the sleeves as he picked up his fork and began poking at the fruit on his tray. Hesitantly, he stuck his fork in a grape, raising it up to his mouth and biting down on a small portion of it, chewing slowly.

Michael had leaned into Ashton and whispered, "Don't stare."

Ashton immediately averted his eyes back to his own food, eating at a steady pace. He couldn't help but worry about the extremely skinny boy sitting next to him and the way he barely wanted to eat _fruit._ He almost felt guilty for eating a full meal in front of him.

Michael and Luke, however, showed no hesitation as they continued to scarf down their food. Michael (unsurprisingly) finished first. "I'm getting seconds," he announced. Luke looked up at him with fond eyes. "And yes, Luke, I'll get you an extra dessert." Luke smiled wide at Michael, who winked before heading back up to the line for food.

"What a sweetheart, he knows me so well," Luke sighed. "So what's with the sweet ride?" He motioned to Ashton's wheelchair.

"Uh, I kinda, um," Ashton stuttered. Unlike Michael, Luke didn't say "oh don't worry about it" or "you don't have to talk about it." He simply stared at Ashton, awaiting an answer. Michael had returned with two pieces of chocolate cake and another pizza, dropping one of the chocolate cake containers onto Luke's tray.

"Thank you, you're a doll," Luke said, opening the container. "So, Ashton? Why are you in a wheelchair?"

_Fuck it,_ Ashton thought. He was surrounded by patients with similar problems. This was the last place he should be afraid to talk about his problems in. "I overdosed on some of my meds and they completely threw off my balance and made me hella dizzy for a while and I'm still coming off of it."

The three boys stared at him blankly. "Huh," Michael said finally, breaking the silence. "Fair enough. So like, you can't walk, or you just have a hard time doing it?"

"Just a hard time. I can't really walk or stand without falling over. Earlier today I walked to the bathroom and ended up puking all over myself from how nauseous I got," Ashton explained, and Luke snorted.

While Luke snorted, Michael was full-on laughing. "Sheesh, what did you take? Even LSD or shrooms don't fuck me up like that," he said through bits of pizza. "Although, I guess I have a higher tolerance than your average man."

"Um, my antidepressants," Ashton said. Michael stopped laughing.

Calum was looking at him, and when Ashton caught him, he offered him a small smile, that Ashton reciprocated.

"Alright, alright, I apologize for being a dick," Michael said, his mouth finally empty of pizza. "Since we're all going to be friends, I'm going to take it upon myself to talk about the reason why I'm here, which is what we all inevitably learn about each other. So hi, I'm Michael Clifford, and I'm your typical drug addict. Luke?"

As if on cue, Luke said, "I'm Luke Hemmings, and I like sex."

Michael and Calum giggled. "I think you like sex a little more than that, Luke," Calum said, putting a full piece of melon in his mouth. He chewed it at a normal pace and swallowed, still smiling. Ashton couldn't help but smile too.

"I'm Calum Hood, and I'm anorexic." Ashton didn't expect Calum to be so nonchalant about it, but it was almost as if the boy wasn't ashamed of it or anything. Maybe he'd been dealing with it for so long and it was so evident that he had no reason to hide it.

All eyes fell on Ashton. "Um, I'm Ashton Irwin, and I tried to kill myself."

The three boys stared at him blankly again before Michael broke the silence _again_ with, "That's it?" It was almost insensitive.

"I mean, yeah, that's what got me here," Ashton said, racking his brain for other things to say. "I used to cut myself too, if that counts."

Luke nodded. "Yeah, that counts."

"But you don't anymore?" Calum asked.

"No, I don't," Ashton stated, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I started when I was sixteen and stopped when I was nineteen. I'm twenty-two now."

Luke looked surprised. "Wow, you're the oldest out of all of us."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Michael replied. He'd finished his pizza and was now working on his chocolate cake. "I'm twenty, Cal's nineteen, and Luke's the baby at eighteen."

Ashton's eyes widened involuntarily. "You're only _eighteen?_ " he asked, shocked. Luke was barely legal, and he was in a mental hospital for a sex addiction. Ashton suddenly felt more nervous than before, nervous and scared because he was eyeing Luke not too long ago. Sure, Luke technically was legal, but he was still _young,_ especially to Ashton.

Luke chuckled at Ashton's remark. "Yeah. It's a shock to everyone, but it's true."

Grinning, Michael prodded at Luke's side. "Tell the story." Calum groaned, shaking his head. "What?" Michael said defensively. "The story never gets old."

"Maybe it doesn't, but it's still fucked up," Calum said, sipping his water. "Oh, well. Tell it, Luke."

And Luke began explaining how he lost his virginity, where it all started. It turned out that Luke lost his virginity at a mere eleven years old. He argued with his parents because he felt like he was too old to need a babysitter, but his parents hired one anyway, a freshly eighteen-year-old girl named Nadia. Luke told the story about how she seduced him and introduced him to everything that sex was. The first time Luke experienced any form of sexual contact was when Luke's parents were out on a date and Nadia walked in on him showering and didn't leave. Instead, she stood and watched, and Luke knew his body was going through changes that he didn't necessarily understand. She explained that when boys his age saw something they liked on a girl, their boy parts got hard, and they needed release. Luke, the curious cat that he was, asked her to explain. Instead of explaining with words, she explained with Luke's first ever blowjob.

It only escalated from there, the two going farther and farther every time Luke's parents went out, which was every weekend. Eventually she asked Luke if he wanted to have sex. They'd done pretty much everything else, handjobs, blowjobs, cunnilingus, fingering, but this was the first time she asked him to have sex. And Luke thought that this entire time they were having sex, and Nadia explained to Luke that sex was something even _better,_ where the boy parts actually went into the girl parts. Luke was hesitant because he knew that what they were already doing was naughty, but Nadia was enticing and persuasive, and before he knew it, he was already inside her.

Luke explained that from that point on, he craved sex more and more to the point where he would see Nadia outside of her babysitting job. He'd lie to his parents about his whereabouts after school so he could have sex with Nadia in her car, and things were okay like that for a while, and then Nadia got a boyfriend. She explained to Luke that she couldn't keep doing it because it was wrong, which Luke didn't understand because she was the one who showed him all these things. Luke was devastated and distraught to the point where he didn't go to school for days, and when his parents asked him why, he told them that Nadia got a boyfriend which meant that he couldn't see her anymore. Luke hadn't realized at that point that he basically outed Nadia and the shenanigans the two had gotten into. When Luke's parents pressed him further, he told them the things that Nadia and him had done together, and his parents were absolutely furious.

His parents had to explain to him that what she had done was illegal, that it was something called statutory rape. Luke was confused because Nadia never told him that it was wrong prior to her getting a boyfriend. His parents _did_ press charges, and Nadia was arrested, a fact that Luke didn't find out until a couple years later. He still couldn't wrap his head around it because it was consensual. Whenever she was persuasive, Luke let her be persuasive, and despite what his therapist told him, Luke kept thinking it was consensual.

However, once Luke stopped seeing Nadia, he'd begun having abnormal sexual habits, such as going to the bathroom to masturbate during the school day, watching porn while in class. He got suspended numerous times but never expelled because his parents and therapist had to explain that he had a _problem,_ and Luke was already late into his middle school career that they didn't want him to have to leave the school. Things didn't get better when Luke got to high school, though, because the girls and guys were just as interested in sex as he was, but Luke was more experienced. He'd go to parties all the time and have sex with whoever he could, girls and guys alike.

When Luke was sixteen, he visited Nadia in prison, secretly. She met him with tears in her eyes and sobbed, "I'm so sorry, Luke. I shouldn't have done all those things to you."

Luke was still so confused, even as a teenager, because this entire time, he never believed his therapist or his parents when they told him what she did was wrong. "No, Nadia, you didn't do anything wrong," Luke said.

But here she was, sitting behind a plastic screen, crying her eyes out, apologizing. "Luke, it was very, very wrong. It was rape. You were so young, you didn't know any better. What I did was so wrong, and I should never be forgiven. I deserve to rot in here for the rest of my life."

Luke shook his head vigorously. "No, no, Nadia, you didn't do anything wrong," he repeated.

"Don't you _see,_ Luke?" Nadia was practically screaming at this point. "I fucked up, and I fucked _you_ up for life, and I'm paying the price. Please-" Nadia was being so loud that the prison guards had shuffled over and began take her away. "I'm sorry, Luke. I'm so sorry." That was the last thing she said to him before she was dragged away, and Luke was left speechless at the phone.

He didn't visit again, and he never saw her again.

The interaction didn't help Luke at all. If anything, he got even worse after the visit, going out almost every night to have sex. He'd somehow gotten ahold of a fake ID, using it to get into clubs to hook up with strangers. Most of the time, Luke didn't use any protection. And it got so bad that Luke had lost track of how many sexual partners he'd had.

What happened that got him into the hospital, though, was he'd been caught in the middle of an attempted rape.

Luke, freshly eighteen, used a valid ID to get into a club. And he was sober, because he liked to be sober when he had sex, but things went south when the guy brought a knife to his neck. Luckily, the guy was clumsy and _not_ sober, so Luke was able to escape and call the cops. The guy was taken away, but the small cut on Luke's neck sent him into a downward spiral and a complete emotional and mental breakdown.

"I don't even remember what happened during my breakdown. A lot of yelling, screaming, swearing, and maybe I threw a thing or two," Luke said. They'd all finished their food at this point, except for Calum, who was nibbling at his yogurt and last few pieces of fruit. "Basically, I flipped the fuck out and my parents got scared and called the cops on me and now I'm here."

Ashton was absolutely speechless. He'd never heard a story so intense, so heavy that it almost didn't sound real, but from the way Luke spoke, Ashton could tell he was telling the truth.

"How you managed to not catch any STD's or get anybody pregnant is beyond me," Michael sighed. Ashton looked to Luke, bewildered. After telling that story, Ashton had expected Luke to have gotten numerous diseases and maybe one or two girls pregnant. Maybe Luke had gotten a girl pregnant, and just didn't know. Luke shrugged.

"I'm not a complete idiot," was what he said.

"You didn't even use condoms half the time! And you know the pill is only like, seventy percent effective, right?" Calum nearly exclaimed.

"Pull out game strong," Luke said, and Michael scoffed. "What? Hey, it's better than absolutely nothing. Plus, maybe some kind of higher power is watching over me." He looked up at the ceiling, and Michael and Calum rolled their eyes.

"But like, how do you know that one of your random hookups didn't result in a pregnancy?" Ashton asked.

Luke chuckled. "Sweetie, if one of my 'random' hookups did get pregnant, I would've heard. But so far, nothing."

Ashton was still extremely confused, because maybe the girls Luke fucked had no way of getting in contact with him, but Luke seemed pretty confident in his statement, so Ashton just went along with it. "So, um," Ashton said awkwardly. He didn't know how to phrase the question, but he was just so curious. "You hooked up with guys too?"

"You know it," Luke said, winking. "I like to call myself an equal opportunist. But, if you want to put labels on it, pansexual, is what I'd say."

The mental health worker watching over the cafeteria had called time, and all the other patients began discarding their trays. Ashton looked over to Calum's, where a nearly full cup of yogurt and a half-eaten plate of fruit were uneaten. Michael picked up Ashton's tray for him, and he mumbled a soft "thank you."

The patients lined up again to head back. When Calum stood up, Ashton noticed how his plaid pajama pants barely fit around his waste and he was actually drowning in them. They were so loose that Ashton couldn't tell what the size of his actual legs were. The oversized sweatshirt was a normal cut, but it hung so low that Calum's collarbone stuck out into the open. The tan boy had bags under his eyes, but somehow he had a head of jet black hair and full lips, slightly chapped, and chubby cheeks. Calum looked at his tray as he stood up, his nose scrunching slightly. Trying not to stare, Ashton turned his wheelchair around and lined up with the rest of the patients.


	3. twisted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turns out calum and ashton are in the same group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no new warnings here, although this chapter kinda delves deeper into calum's story, so more warnings for eating disorders.  
> also a slight panic attack.  
> i apologize for any sort of inaccuracies.

Back at the unit, Ashton and Michael hung out in the community area, watching the sun go down. The blinds were slightly drawn to protect against the sun's glare, but the oranges and purples painted the sky nonetheless, filling Ashton with a warmth that temporarily distracted him from the fact that he was in a wheelchair at a mental hospital. They sat in silence, although Michael had earbuds in listening to one of the old iPods that the patients were allowed to use at designated times. Calum had gone back to his room and Luke was doing whatever Luke was doing, which was probably continuing to get into one of the nurse's pants.

An older woman, probably in her fifties, sat on the sofa adjacent to the one Michael was sitting on. She glanced around the room nervously, twisting her hands together, occasionally murmuring something to herself. In the background, Ashton could hear idle conversation between workers and the music blaring from Michael's earbuds.

He tapped Michael's arm, who removed one earbud. "What's next after this?"

"Group," Michael replied. "Last group of the day. You know which group you're in?"

Ashton shook his head. "You'd probably be in group A," Michael told him.

"What group are you in?" Ashton asked.

"I'm in group C. There's three groups, A, B, and C. A is for mood disorders, like depression and shit, B is for more intense psychological disorders like schizophrenia and extreme cases of bipolar, and C is more substance abuse based," Michael explained. "Calum is in A, and Luke is in B. There's a roster up on one of the billboards in the front if you wanna check." Michael pointed in the direction of the nurse's station.

Ashton wheeled himself over there, and sure enough, his name was printed under group A. When he returned to Michael, he nodded, saying, "Yup, I'm in A."

Michael nodded back in response. "Yeah, I figured. Well, at least Calum's got a friend in his group now." There was a pause in which Michael seemed to be thinking, as he didn't put his earbud back in.

"What are the groups like?" Ashton asked, slightly nervous to find out.

Michael shrugged. "It's different for each group. Most of the time it's therapy, sometimes it's doing arts and crafts shit. And sometimes groups A and C combine. So we might have group together one day. I'm pretty sure tonight is just therapy though. And since you're new, I don't think they'd penalize you for not going."

"Are you penalized for not going?"

"Not really. It's strongly encouraged, but they're not gonna force you to attend. Especially because if you comply and be a good noodle, you'll get out faster," Michael said with a hint of sarcasm.

Ashton could see tension in Michael's face. He guessed that maybe Michael had been here for a while, maybe he'd been a good noodle and still wasn't able to get out. It made Ashton realize that he knew almost nothing about Michael, except for that he was a drug addict, as he had said at dinner.

Without really knowing or thinking, Ashton had blurted out the question. "How long have you been here?"

The tension in Michael's face didn't seem to change, but his eyebrows furrowed. "A month? Maybe two. I don't know. I was here for both Calum and Luke's admissions. Calum's been here almost a week and Luke's been here for two. So yeah, maybe a little more than a month."

That made Ashton nervous. Calum and Luke had been here for weeks and Calum still wasn't eating and Luke was still trying to fuck. As if Michael was reading his mind, he said, "It's not the hospital's fault. They're doing their best to help us, but, like, maybe we're not doing our best to help us, you know?" He said it as if he was holding something back. He was twisting the earbud's wire around his finger, but he didn't say another word.

Group time came a lot sooner than expected. One of the mental health workers had announced it fairly loudly, startling some of the patients. She said that group A was going to be in the community lounge. Ashton figured there wouldn't be any harm in going, since Calum was in the same group and he liked Calum. He seemed like a nice person, despite his ghastly appearance. He was reserved but not super afraid, which Ashton thought was intriguing.

Including Ashton, there were three people. Through the windows he saw a bunch of other patients heading down the hall in the direction of their assigned group rooms, Luke being one of them. It was surprising that the majority of patients were in groups B and C, whereas group A had a total of four. Calum was still absent.

The two other patients in group A were women. One looked to be about seventy, and the other was a lot younger, probably not older than twenty-one. She fiddled with her hospital bracelet (oh yeah, Ashton forgot had two of them, one from the emergency room and one from here) and occasionally looked up, possibly looking out for the therapist. Her hair was a dark auburn and her skin was so pale that it rivaled Michael's. She didn't look physically sick like Calum, but the short-sleeve shirt she wore revealed two arms riddled with scars. Ashton flinched internally, feeling slightly grateful that his self-harming never got to that point.

The therapist entered the room about a minute before group was supposed to start. He was an older, heavier man who wore a bright blue polo and khakis. He had a pen hanging from his shirt pocket and a clipboard tucked under his arm. He took a seat at the end of the rectangular table and smiled at Ashton. "I see we have a new person, welcome," he said, his voice bright. "You must be Ashton. I'm Collin, I'm a social work intern here."

Ashton raised an eyebrow. "An intern?"

Collin shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, how else are we supposed to gain experience, you know?"

"Don't worry about it," the auburn-haired girl spoke up. "Collin is great." She grinned at him, to which he reciprocated.

"No need to flatter me," Collin laughed haughtily.

A minute passed in silence before Collin placed his clipboard down on the table. "We're still waiting on Calum, it seems," he said. There were a few more minutes of silence and some small talk between auburn-haired girl and Collin before Calum entered the room silently, taking his seat across from Ashton. He gave him a small smile. "Ah, welcome, Calum," Collin said, reaching out his hand.

Calum took it, giving it a shake similar to the way he'd shaken Ashton's. "Hi, Collin," he said quietly, retracting his hand back into his sweater sleeve.

"Well, let's get started. We have a new face, so I'd like to do introductions if that's okay. I'm Collin, I'm fifty-two, and I'm a social work intern here." His eyes fell on each of the patients, waiting for someone to go.

"I'm Helena," the auburn-haired girl said. She didn't say anything else.

"Catherine," the older one said.

Calum looked to Ashton, his dark brown eyes meeting Ashton's green ones. "I'm Calum, although Ashton and I have already become acquainted."

"That's nice," Collin said genuinely. Ashton didn't know what it was, but there was something about Collin that was different from all the therapists Ashton has ever met. Collin sounded like he wanted to be there, like it wasn't some job to him. And it surprised Ashton that Collin was fifty-two and an intern.

"And I'm Ashton," Ashton said, completing the introductions.

Collin removed the pen from his shirt pocket. "So, as most of you know, I don't like to run groups. I like to let you guys run the groups. So, what would you all like to talk about today?"

"Let's talk about hopes and dreams," Helena said almost immediately. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "How hopes and dreams don't matter in this fucking world and we're all just living lives to make ourselves feel like we're not going to die someday, when deep down everyone knows that we will."

All eyes fell on her, including Collin's. Calum shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Why do you think that?" Collin asked, tapping his pen on his clipboard.

"Look at it this way, I had hopes and dreams when I was younger. I was ambitious. And now look at me, I'm in this shithole and people are forcing me to live when I don't want to." Helena's eyes were fixed on the table in front of her. "I don't get it. I mean, why the hell are people forcing me to live? I'm an adult. I have control over my own body. I should have control of my future, too, and if I don't want to have a future, who's to take that away from me?"

Ashton couldn't help but think that this girl had been through some tough shit. The scars on her arms looked like they were inflicted at all sorts of different times. The older ones were paler in contrast to her normal skin tone, while the newer ones were flushed pink. He knew that feeling all too well, where things were so bad that he was willing to injure his own body to feel some kind of relief. He could relate to the words she spoke. He didn't want to live. That was why he was in here in the first place.

"I agree," Ashton found himself speaking up. "We should all have control over our futures."

Calum was looking at him now, but Ashton couldn't meet his eyes. "I don't want to have a future," he continued. "I was ready to die. I don't understand why people, complete _strangers,_ want me to live."

Ashton looked to Helena. Her eyes were green, much like his. She was smiling at him.

"You have a choice." Ashton was surprised to hear Calum speak up. "You have a choice to live or die. Some people don't. Some people live on death's row every day. And yet, here you are, with control over yourself and your future, and you don't want to have one?"

Calum was glaring at Helena. "Says the one who's basically killing himself every day," she retorted.

"Hey," Collin said firmly. Helena ignored him.

"You have a choice to starve yourself every day. You're just like us. Suicidal. Just in a different way." Calum was no longer glaring at her. "You're just slowly but surely killing yourself, you hypocrite."

" _Helena,_ " Collin interjected, his voice even more warning.

"This isn't my choice," Calum mumbled. "It's not my choice! You think I asked for this? You think I _want_ to be like this?" His voice rose slightly, but it shook, like he was on the verge of tears. "Maybe in the past it was. Maybe I did choose to starve myself, but it's _different_ now. I don't want to look like this anymore, but my body and my mind speak otherwise."

Calum stood up. "I'm taking a regroup," he said before leaving the room.

Ashton didn't even realize he was wheeling himself out the room behind him.

-

"Calum," Ashton called out. "Calum!"

The two reached the community area, the window revealing the night sky littered with stars. The city lights shone through the windows as well. "I'm sorry," Calum said. "Helena's a bitch."

Ashton wasn't one to agree with that statement, but then again, Calum had been here longer than him. Perhaps he knew Helena better.

"Don't apologize," Ashton said. They looked out at the view. "I'm sorry she said all of that. It was really uncalled for."

Calum chuckled and shrugged. "We butt heads all the time. She's just very stubborn, thinks she's right all the time. Whenever someone points out a flaw in her logic, she's quick to jump on the defensive, automatically clapping back and pointing at the other person's flaws." He plopped down on one of the community sofas and brought his knees up to his chest. "It's not the first time she's said something like that to me."

The two sat there in silence. No one had come out to bring them back to group, which was slightly surprising to Ashton. "She's the reason why I don't like going to group all that much," Calum said, breaking the silence. "But I saw that you were in the group, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to get to know you better, since you seemed pretty nice at dinnertime."

Ashton's heart leaped. He turned to Calum, who was smiling at him with full yet chapped lips.

"So, do you really think that?" Calum asked. "That you don't think people should force you to live?"

Honestly, Ashton felt like he didn't know anything anymore. He remembered how badly he wanted to end it all, but he also remembered how much his hands were shaking before he swallowed the pills. Though he couldn't remember anything after that, the feeling was still there. The feeling of wanting everything to disappear. The feeling of wanting to die. But here he was, alive, in a mental hospital, because one of his neighbors had called for help. He couldn't wrap his head around why his neighbor didn't just leave it alone, but then again, he was told that he didn't take nearly enough medication for him to die. So, in reality, he was going to live anyway.

He mentally slapped himself.

"I don't know," Ashton said.

Calum sighed. "I think force is a harsh word to use. I mean, no one's forcing anyone to live."

"The fact that we're in a mental hospital disproves that statement," Ashton snorted.

"Sure. But why do you think mental hospitals exist, Ash?" Calum asked.

Ashton was confused as to what Calum was hinting at. He shrugged. "I mean, yeah, there are people who do this stuff for the money, but do you ever think that there are people who actually _want_ to help people like us? Like, genuinely want to help?" Calum asked.

Ashton could almost hear Collin's voice in the back of his head. He didn't know what it was about Collin that made him feel safe, comfortable. The man had a welcoming smile, and Ashton thought that if he didn't know Collin was an intern, he would have though Collin was just another mental health worker, doing a job for the sake of not living in a box.

"It sucks that there are people who work in mental health just to put food on the table. But, believe it or not, there are people who want to see others be happy. Collin is one of them," Calum said as if he'd read Ashton's mind. "I've been here nearly a week, and no one in my entire life has shown as much compassion as Collin has. He runs groups, yeah, but there was one day in particular where I was feeling really down, and it was like he could sense it, and he asked if I wanted to talk. I took him up on that offer, and I went on for a whole hour about things I'd never thought I'd say out loud. And he sat there and he _listened_ , Ashton."

Calum's voice wavered. "He's not the only one. I'm positive that there are other people like him. People who listen, people who care."

For a second, Ashton thought about Calum's words. He felt like he'd heard them before, probably from some motivational speaker on TV, but these words were coming from Calum, a fellow patient. Though Ashton didn't know the depths of Calum's struggles, there was a truth to his words, a hope that Ashton had never heard before from any motivational speaker on TV. Calum was the walking proof and definition of hope, Ashton thought.

But the thought came and went. Something repelled the thought of there being people who cared, simply because it didn't _matter_ to Ashton. He'd meant what he said back in the group. That he should be the one to decide whether or not he gets a future. But there was no way he could say that to Calum, because he knew Calum was trying to help him. Ashton tried not to be one to judge, but he assumed that Calum's emotional state was just as fragile as his body, so he refrained from saying anything to dispute Calum's positive messages.

Instead, he found himself blurting out a question.

"What did you mean by your body and mind speak otherwise?"

Calum wasn't stupid, nor had he forgotten about what he said in group. He knew Ashton was referring to his eating disorder. While it was difficult to talk about, it wasn't necessarily anxiety-inducing. He talked about it because he was fine with people knowing about it, since it was quite visible to begin with.

"I started starving myself when I was fifteen," Calum said. "Back then, I did it because my self-esteem was garbage, I think. I don't know. I felt like shit, like, I thought I was a fucking whale." He laughed dryly. "Looking back on it, I was an average teenage boy. But it was already too late, because I'd formed a really bad habit of not eating for days on end. I skipped meals when I could, and I started visibly losing weight, but that wasn't enough. I always felt bigger than I actually was. I never told anyone, even when my family and classmates noticed I was losing weight. Like, a  _lot_ of weight. But they never knew about the horrible things I was feeling, and for some reason, no one said anything about an eating disorder. I guess maybe they were in denial. This has gone on for _years,_ and I can't even remember the last time I had a full meal. I thought I was getting better for a short period of time, like, several months ago, 'cause I was eating really small snacks and stuff. But about a month ago I started slipping again.

"I wasn't eating, and this time around it was worse. My body felt more disgusting when I ate than when I didn't eat. I think it was because my body was so used to not having food in it, that it physically rejected the thought of eating entirely. I couldn't keep down a fucking apple. And then my family had a huge reunion where there was food everywhere, and I was so fucking anxious around it already, and then my grandmother basically shoved an entire plate of food in my face, you know how grandmothers are. I hadn't seen my grandmother since I was a kid, and I just felt so guilty, so I forced myself to eat. It was revolting, Ash. Like, I could barely keep any of it down, it was actually _painful._ I waited until everyone left, and then I locked myself in the bathroom and cried my eyes out for what seemed like hours, and the next thing I know, I'm shoving my fingers down my throat."

Calum winced at the memory. "I didn't purge often because I never really had to. But this time... this time, I just lost it. Physically and mentally, I broke down. I guess my body couldn't take it anymore, and after I purged, I was unconscious for the entire night, and then I woke up in the emergency room with an IV in my arm and a tube down my throat. And, well, now I'm here."

Ashton didn't know what to say. He didn't want to say 'I'm sorry' because that was what everyone says when they hear something that makes them uncomfortable. And Ashton wasn't _uncomfortable;_ he just really didn't know what to say. He had no experience with eating disorders, and while he could relate to the whole self-esteem thing, he felt like his past self-harm experience didn't even compare to Calum's situation.

He felt insensitive.

"I can't understand how you're so... open about it," Ashton said after several seconds of awkward silence.

Calum shrugged his tiny shoulders. "I've been keeping it in for so long. I think since I'm in a space where it's okay to talk about stuff like this, that I can finally say everything that's been on my mind for years. And I'm finally getting help, sort of." He brought his sleeves down past his hands, covering his boney fingers. "I was always an open book about anything else, honestly."

"So... when you said your body and mind speak otherwise—"

"Oh yeah, that!" Calum cut him off. "Yeah, I _do_ want to get better, Ash. I know I have an eating disorder that may very well kill me. And what Helena said is true, about how I'm slowly killing myself every day."

Ashton didn't know how Calum could stay so casual.

"But... it's not my _choice._ I did start starving myself four years ago because I thought I was fat, and I thought I would be able to stop. But then my body got so used to it, that it suddenly became not a choice. It got to the point where my body couldn't physically have food in it. That wasn't my choice. And even when I grew up and got past that weird adolescent stage and knew that I wasn't fat, every time I tried to eat, my mind just went back to when I was fifteen, and..."

Calum trailed off. Ashton couldn't tell if it was because he was trying to fight back tears or not.

"It was like anorexia had become a part of me. It was like second nature. Trust me, Ashton, I don't want to look like this," Calum said, gesturing at his thin form. "But that's why I'm here. So I can finally get help and be okay with looking and feeling and _being_ healthy."

Ashton didn't understand. He _couldn't_ understand, because he didn't go through what Calum went through, nor did he ever think about starving himself. But he did know one thing.

"Calum, have you ever thought about killing yourself?" he asked.

Calum, looking confused, nodded. "Yeah, I have."

"Have you ever tried?"

Calum shook his head no. "Why are you asking me this?"

Ashton turned to look at the city lights. "I know being suicidal isn't the same as having an eating disorder. But... being suicidal, and trying to commit suicide, isn't a choice either."

Calum stayed silent, waiting for Ashton to elaborate. "When you purged, did you feel like you had a choice?"

Calum felt like he knew what Ashton was getting at. "No," he said. "My body was physically rejecting the food."

"Yeah, well," Ashton said, trying not to sound like a complete insensitive jerk, "being suicidal is like, your body physically rejecting life. There are people who carefully plan out their suicides, and while it may seem like a choice, sometimes it really isn't. I mean, do you know how much pain you have to be in in order to want to take your own life? It's a lot of fucking pain. And when you're in that much pain, sometimes it feels like you have no choice but to just... end it completely."

Calum's fingers poked out of his sleeves as he twiddled his thumbs together nervously. "Ashton, I—"

"I'm sorry, Calum," Ashton said. "I'm sorry if I'm coming across as a jerk. I just... want you to understand where people like me and Helena are coming from. Because trust me, I'm trying to understand where you're coming from too."

Ashton turned back to look at the skinny boy, whose brown eyes seemed to gloss over. His lip was quivering slightly.

"But, Ashton," Calum said, "do _you_ want to get help?"

Ashton swallowed a lump in his throat, because honestly, he didn't even know anymore.

"Getting help _is_ a choice. I know that when they put us in a place like this, that it feels like they're making us get help. But you were speaking up in group, you were talking to Michael and Luke at dinner. If you didn't want to get help, would you really be interacting with the environment like this?"

Ashton's mind was screaming.

"Needing help is one thing, wanting help is another. Usually patients in mental hospitals fit under needing help. But the only way to have even a _possibility_ of a future is to want help. Or... the only way to even _want_ a future, is to want help."

The noises started to get louder. Something inside Ashton's brain was clawing at his skull, and suddenly it was hard to breathe. His vision was beginning to blur. His jaw was clenched so hard that he felt like he would break his teeth. There was pain somewhere on his body, but he couldn't register where.

 _"Mom!_ Do _something!"_

_She stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, not in a demeaning way, but in a fearful way. Her eyes filled to the brim with tears, she watched as her son was burned._

"Ashton." There was a firm voice. A firm voice from a fragile person.

Ashton blinked, his fact hot, and he turned to face Calum, who was looking at him, horrified. It took a second for Ashton to realize that Calum wasn't looking at him, but his arm.

Ashton had dug his nails into his left arm so hard that blood was beginning to surface.

Despite watching Ashton in a moment of self-mutilation, Calum asked the question again. Ashton released his left arm from his death grip.

"Do you want to get help, Ash?"

There was something gentle about Calum's voice. Not frail, like his body. A complete softness, comfort, a feeling that Ashton used to know and hadn't felt in such a long time. He didn't know how to feel. He did know that he was feeling too much, but it wasn't _too much,_ like when he tried to kill himself. It was too much of good things. For once, memories that flashed in Ashton's mind were those of love and cottony clouds.

Maybe he did want to get help after all, just so that he could feel this way again, every day, instead of one.


End file.
